The morning sun cast long golden shafts across the stone courtyard of Emberwatch Crossing. Kieran blinked sleep from his eyes as the group assembled near the gates. The night had passed without incident, and though the fire in his veins remained ever-present, it was tempered now, resting beneath the surface like coals waiting for breath.
Thorne joined them again, adjusting the straps of his satchel and giving Kieran a bright smile. "Still up for the capital?"
The night before, as the tavern quieted and the fire burned low, Thorne had lingered with them long after most patrons had gone to bed. He had spoken of his journey from Eastmere, of the quiet towns he passed and the merchant caravans he'd tagged along with. It became clear through conversation and shared laughter that he, too, sought more than just an exam—he was chasing a dream forged in stories and shaped by ambition.
When Maera had asked him, point-blank, why he was traveling alone at such a young age, Thorne's answer had been honest: "Because no one else believed it was worth trying."
Maera leaned back slightly, her gaze steady. "That's a heavy reason to carry on such young shoulders."
Thorne shrugged, a small, tired smile on his lips. "Maybe. But I figured, if I don't try, no one else will for me."
Ysolde's eyes softened. "It's brave. Not everyone would choose to walk the road alone."
She hesitated, then added, "What about your parents? How did they feel about you setting out on your own like this?"
Thorne looked down, scuffing a boot against the ground. "They didn't stop me, if that tells you anything. I think... part of them knew I needed to try. And part of them didn't believe I'd make it far."
Ysolde tilted her head slightly, curiosity lingering in her eyes. "What was your home like?"
Thorne hesitated, his mouth pulling into a small, distant smile. "It was... complicated. My parents weren't cruel, but they weren't warm either. They believed in practicality, in sticking to what you know and surviving quietly. Dreams weren't encouraged—they were distractions. Most days, it felt like I was more of a burden than a son. I learned to keep my hopes to myself, to move quietly and not ask for much."
He looked away briefly, jaw tightening. "They didn't say goodbye when I left. Just watched me pack, like they were waiting to see if I'd really go through with it. Maybe they thought I'd come back in a week. Maybe they didn't care. I don't know. But I knew if I stayed... I'd lose the part of me that still believed in something more."
He paused, glancing between them. "Guess that's what pushed me out the door more than anything. That feeling that if I didn't go now, I never would."
Ysolde nodded thoughtfully. "I get that. Wanting to find your own path."
Kieran, arms crossed loosely, added, "Sometimes the urge to go is stronger than the comfort of staying. And once you start walking, it's hard to stop."
Kieran tilted his head, thoughts stirring beneath the surface. He couldn't help but feel a quiet kinship with Thorne's story. Though their circumstances were different, the ache of not being fully seen or understood by family struck a familiar chord. Kieran had lost his parents in the fire, but even before that, his path had felt like something he had to walk alone—his awakening, his heritage, all of it wrapped in silence and expectation. Thorne's quiet struggle mirrored the isolation Kieran had known long before tragedy sealed it.
"That's a hard kind of freedom," he said, the weight of his own memories lending gravity to the words.
Thorne gave a half-smile. "Freedom's still freedom, even when it's cold. But I'd rather face the road than stay in a place where my dreams meant nothing."
Kieran nodded slowly, his thoughts churning. There was something about Thorne's resolve that mirrored a part of himself. He saw the same flicker of defiance, the same fire kindled by quiet pain. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so different from why he kept moving forward.
Kieran nodded, finally speaking. "Sometimes... it's easier to walk it alone than to be surrounded by those who'd rather hold you back. But choosing to still believe in something when you're alone—that's the hard part."
Thorne met his gaze, the spark of something mutual passing between them. "Maybe it's easier when you know what you're walking toward."
Kieran gave a small smile. "Then let's keep walking. Together."
Ysolde had looked at him with a kind of kindred recognition, and even Maera, though cautious, saw the potential in bringing him along. "An extra pair of eyes," she had murmured, "and someone already on the same path."
Kieran, meanwhile, studied Thorne with mixed feelings. There was something admirable in Thorne's honesty and boldness—traveling alone at such a young age was no small feat. As he watched Thorne laugh and exchange quiet stories with Ysolde, Kieran felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: hope. The road ahead was long, and perhaps—just perhaps—having someone like Thorne beside them might ease the weight he carried on his shoulders.
The decision had been made. Thorne would travel with them the rest of the way to the capital. They had room, and more importantly, they had found a companion with heart.
Kieran nodded, tightening the bindings on his cloak. "Still up for the academy?"
Thorne grinned. "Always."
Maera was already mounted, scanning the horizon with her usual wary gaze. Ysolde walked beside her horse, brushing crumbs from her tunic, looking more alert than she had the previous morning.
Before they departed, Maera called them close. Her tone was calm, but beneath the words was the undercurrent of steel.
"Emberroad may look clear, but I need you all to remember something: danger hides in familiarity. The creatures here have grown stranger over the years. There are rumors of beasts twisted by mana surges—and not all who walk these roads have good intentions. Stay together. No wandering."
Ysolde nodded solemnly. Thorne gave a short, serious nod of his own.
Kieran looked out at the road ahead, narrowing his eyes as if trying to pierce the distance. The path shimmered faintly beneath the rising heat, curling like a mirage. He could feel it again—that silent buzz in his chest. It wasn't just mana. It was anticipation.
"How long until we reach the next stretch of wilds?" Ysolde asked.
Maera replied, "A few hours if the road holds. We've left the worst of the Emberroad behind, but the land ahead isn't without danger. Rolling hills, low woods, and plenty of places for bandits or beasts to wait in ambush. Stay sharp."
They mounted and rode out, the road falling behind with the rhythm of hoofbeats. Kieran fell into silence, absorbing every detail. The road, the air, the whispers of unseen things just beyond the edge of hearing.
He practiced while they traveled, when it was safe. Guiding the mana through him was growing easier, but fire was not a quiet element. It surged, roared, resisted control. He tried to steady it, to mold it into shape with each breath. The sensations varied—sometimes a burning in his palms, other times a heat in his chest, a flicker behind his eyes.
Harmony with flame was no small feat. It wanted to consume, to expand, to become. But Kieran pushed on. He shaped flames into threads, wrapping them around his thoughts, his focus. He was learning to listen, to feel the intent behind each spark.